


sugar, we're going down

by urkellinme (sup3rloki)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Growing Up!AU, M/M, Pining, Potential Smut i guess, What am I doing, clichéd little shits, i changed their ages a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sup3rloki/pseuds/urkellinme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you were sixteen and you remember thinking to yourself, i could fall in love with you. </p>
<p>and you do. </p>
<p>and you never stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sugar, we're going down

**Author's Note:**

> uhm, i've been working on this for a while. i want to say it's a wip. collection of drabbles interconnected, technically. uh, yeah. just wanted to get this out there. un-betaed and un-britpicked.

you were six and i was five. 

the playground was barely occupied, a storm stirred the greying sky. you were the only one stubborn enough not to go home. 

my parents were fighting again, and the playground was my only safe place. it was already raining when i get there, and you were sat at the gazeebo. 

i didn't know what to do. but you did, and you called me over. 

and we talked. about anything and everything and nothing. 

you told me your name but i didn't tell mine. you called me nothing. 

+

we didn't see each other again until two years later. 

i was seven and you were eight and you were a grade higher than me. 

a bunch of boys from my class had me cornered, because i wouldn't lend my basketball. 

everyone knew who you were because you were friends with everyone. 

you cleared your throat and you told them off, and when they left, i said thank you. 

you told me that it was okay, nothing. 

i told you my name. 

+

you were ten and i was nine, and i was allowed to skip one grade. you literally tackled me when i first entered the classroom. 

your mum had to pry you away from me. 

+

it's three weeks into school, and we were having lunch. i've come to terms with the fact that you were popular. 

i've become friends with your popular ones and we sat at two tables pushed together. you sat at the head and i was at your left. 

i told you a joke and you laughed loudly although it wasn't very funny. but i liked your laugh. 

+

three months and a week later, the class was singing you happy birthday. the teacher wanted us to dedicate special messages for you. 

when mrs. hatfield asked who was your best friend, everyone called on me. 

never have i been any prouder to be called that. 

+

it was june, and summer has begun. for once, we were both twelve. 

you got into football and my mum forced me into it. i was jersey number eleven and you were seventeen. 

when we played, you would pass the ball to me. always. 

+

you always pass the ball to me now. 

even if we were on different sides. 

+

you were turning fourteen and i was still thirteen when we were invited to a party. 

we always got invites, but i never went. 

this time, i made an exception because oh, come on, mate. consider this my present! 

and i did. so i dressed up for you and you did too, like you always did for parties. and it kind of bothered me, back then, that most of your outfit consisted of my clothes. 

it kind of bothers me when this flurry of emotions hit me when you return them, smelling of you. 

+

later, well into the party, i left to the backyard. and you were still inside, attending to the peasants worshipping the ground you walked on. 

and it was okay, you know. because you had a social life but you were mine. you were the only social thing in my life. 

and it bothered me. but i didn't mind. 

+

half an hour later and of our teammates from footie finds me near the pool. he's out of breath and flushed and surprised and mate, you gotta go inside. 

and i do, because all i thought of was you. 

and i come back in, and you were there, pressed against the wall, small and frail beneath one of our upperclassmen. 

i wasn't even thinking when i surged forward, pulling you away from the burly sixteen year old. 

and you resisted for a little while, but you knew it was me, and you let me pull you away. 

and we left the party. left your servants, your alcohol, your burly upperclassman. 

and most importantly, you left the proverbial closet. 

+

i couldn't send you back home to your worrisome mum like this. so i sneaked you into my room and left you on the bed. i stripped you off because you liked to sleep naked, and there was something - something about the way you smelled like a cocktail and cigarettes and kisses and love. 

the floor looked good to me. 

+

you were still turning fourteen and you were still in my bed, and it was still the night of the party. 

i lay on my back on the floor, staring at the ceiling, when i heard you whimper. and you whispered, oh so softly, so broken. my name. 

"yeah?"

and you call for me to come to bed, love, the floor looks awfully unsettling. but i told you i was okay. you huffed and turned away from me. 

i had to chuckle. but i climbed into it anyway, and marveled at how taller i am than you. and your back pressed against my chest, your legs tangling with mine. 

and you were warm. 

+

i woke up the next day and the bed was disturbingly empty, cold. and you texted me. and i thought, no, that didn't hurt. 

i sleep for the rest of the day. 

+

you were sixteen and you remember thinking to yourself, i could fall in love with you. 

and you do. 

and you never stop. 

+

you were still sixteen and you thought, hey, it would be nice to fall in love with me. 

but you don't. 

not yet, anyway. 

+

nothing happened when we were seventeen. but we got into clubs and we drank and you kissed me. 

you don't remember. 

but i do. 

+

we turn eighteen and we both decided to have our gap year. 

you don't want to go to uni yet but i want to. 

because i might be falling in love with you. 

+

we're still eighteen and you win tickets for a trip for two to new york. i was happy for you. 

you took your mum with you and i missed you. the whole four days. 

and i knew. i've figured it out. 

+

your mum asked my mum to have me pick you up from the airport. so i borrowed my mum's car and drove the two hours to london. 

i wait for you at arrivals and the first thing you do is jump and cling to me, limbs wrapped around my body. 

you told me you missed me. i did, too. 

+

everyone gave us dirty looks but i didn't mind. 

+

it felt like primary school again when your mum had to pry you off of me. and you asked me, are you okay, you look like crying. 

and i was fine. 

because you're home, now. 

+

the ride back to your house was you talking, me and your mum exchanging glances through the rearview mirror. 

and i almost told you to shut up. but i don't. because your voice felt like silk. 

+

you turn nineteen next week and decide you want to go to uni next year. 

you're applying to bristol. i was applying to oxford. 

+

you rattle on me for a good twelve hours about leaving you. 

and it's midnight in my room but you're still around, and i finally, finally cup your face in my hands. 

"i'm not leaving you."

+

you spend the rest of the week with me, until you actually turn nineteen. 

no parties, because it was christmas eve. just your family and mine and my mum sharing knowing glances with my mum, giving me worried looks. 

i wished i didn't know what those looks meant. 

+

you go home to your family that night, because obviously, it was christmas. 

but you keep our call around one in the morning running until it's five and you offer me a cup of cocoa through the phone. 

+

i heard one of your sisters asking if you were on the phone with your boyfriend. 

almost too quickly did you say no. 

good thing we were only on the phone. 

+

the day after christmas we meet up in a coffee shop. 

the waitress gives us our coffees and i smile at you and you return it and boyfriend, huh? why haven't i met him?

and you sputter out and i am almost worried but you laugh after you recover. 

you grin at me, shit-eating and whatnot, and no, actually, my sisters are under the impression that you are my boyfriend. ridiculous, isn't it?

and i try to laugh over my coffee but it comes out strangled. 

+

you invite me back to your house. the rest of your family has just left to visit some relatives in sheffield. i wonder and look around and why didn't you go with them?

you smile, small and barely there and my grandmum doesn't actually favor my preference. 

oh. 

but i wrap my arms around you anyway, and you are warm and tiny against me. 

+

we watch films and eat pizza and we sit on the sofa. inching closer, until you're leant against my chest. 

you're heavy against my heart. but still warm. 

+

we sleep in your bed that night, wrapped around each other and i am still taller than you. i don't sleep but i pretend to, absently running my fingers through your hair. 

and i could get used to this. 

but i don't tell you i've been accepted into oxford. 

+

i wake up to burnt toast and lovely tea. 

i don't realize what i'm doing when i brush the hair out of your eyes and kiss your forehead. 

but you don't mind and don't mention it when i cook us pancakes.

+

i also don't realize you were wearing my shirt. 

+

you probably didn't, either. 

+

nothing happens the rest of the month and the month after that. 

but for my birthday, you take me to watch five different films in one day.  
and i remember you laughing when we run between cinemas.

and, yes, it was the best birthday ever. 

+

that night, we go clubbing with other friends. 

an hour in, i lose you on the dancefloor. but i did not fret, because i knew you would come back to me. 

i don't get drunk but drink enough beer to get hyper. 

i want to go home and watch films and drink tea and fall asleep wrapped around you. but i find you in the restroom, kneeled in front of another bloke, half naked. 

"sorry."

quietly exiting, bitter tears stinging the corners of my eyes. 

i remind myself that you are not mine to lose in the first place, not mine to cry about, not mine to be jealous about. 

but i was fucking in love with you. and so i run and get my car and drive, just driving, not going home, not going anywhere in particular. 

+

the tears spill over at the second traffic light. 

+

i find myself at a twenty four hour diner, nursing a cup of coffee and pitiful looks from the waitresses. the busboy was cute but i didn't bother. 

because i imagine you running after me. getting a taxi and finding me. 

but an hour passes and you are not here. i sip at my coffee, realizing it's gone cold. 

+

it is two in the morning when i check my phone, still in the diner, cheeks damp. 

a couple of messages from my mum. another couple from yours. several from our friends, collectively asking where i've gone. but only one was from you. 

and it stated simply, "i'm sorry."

it didn't feel like it. 

+

three in the morning and i drive back to the club, sees you standing, looking sad. 

i wanted to kiss you but i couldn't. you open the door into the passenger seat and drive home. the journey is wordless though the air held many things left unsaid. 

+

i drop you off with a trying smile and go home. and have a cup of tea and sleep. and i will not lie, but i cried again. because, fuck, i love you. and you probably knew, now. and things will never be the same. 

+

we don't talk for a week and never have i missed you more. 

+

we don't talk for another and i wanted to move on, and be human again and feel and enjoy the snow while it's still here. 

and i do. and i go back to the playground where we first met, which has grown rusty and unused. the small, hopeful part of me wished you were there. 

but the bigger part of me hurt when you weren't. 

+

thursday and the snow falls for the last time. my window has a perfect view of the little town; snow-filled and picturesque all over. 

a car pulls into our driveway and it's familiar, too familiar and something squelches under my foot when i make a run for my door. perhaps, it was my heart; i couldn't tell. 

before i could make it to the bathroom - or exit my bedroom for that - you are in my doorway. cold and beautiful and wearing my shirt under a ridiculous parka. 

i breathe and then you do, taking turns until a hi, look, i'm sorry. 

"what for?" i ask, because, really. you don't have to apologize for anything. you are not mine for you to owe me an apology.

"the club thing - i -" 

and i cut you off because "louis, look, you don't owe me anything. if anything, i owe you an apology. that bloke - you could've married and had children with and you could've bought a home together and i've ruined it for you, so, sorry, and so i understand if you do not want to talk to or see me ever ag-"

and it is your turn to do so, covering my loud mouth with yours, moulding perfectly. and your hands cup my flushed cheeks and mine are covering yours. it is too much but not nearly enough and i don't want it to end but it does all too quickly. 

later that night we watch films and have hot cocoa and kiss and make up for lost time. 

when we go to bed, you smell like home. 

and soap. 

+

it is a year and a half later of not receiving any calls from you that i decided university was not my thing and went back home. 

i learn from jay that you share a flat with your boyfriend, zayn, or something. and that you are taking a major in english instead of law like you told me. you've gotten tattoos and dyed your hair red and wrote poems. 

i decided it didn't hurt. 

but at least you were mine for just a night.


End file.
